The Ghosts Of The Trees (Isabella Valancy Crawford Poems)
The silver fangs of the mighty axe, Bit to the blood of our giant boles;It smote our breasts and smote our ...
The silver fangs of the mighty axe, Bit to the blood of our giant boles;It smote our breasts and smote our ...
I stand within the stony, arid town, I gaze for ever on the narrow street;I hear for ever passing up and ...
The leaves dance, the leaves sing,The leaves dance in the breath of the Spring.I bid them dance,I bid them sing,For ...
Down at Devine's Hotel — where night and dayThe noises of the harbour find their way,The endless stir of ships ...
The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the ...
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